Some Have To Live With The Scars
by Julia451
Summary: One-shot set after the second movie. "It's only fun if you get a scar out of it." Not for everyone. Astrid sees things in a new light when Eret tells her the full story behind his scar. Friendship, not romantic. Revised after seeing "Enemy of my Enemy" and learning about the Slavemark.


It was a few weeks after their new chief had taken office when Astrid took their newest recruit on a routine training exercise around the far side of the island. Things were going fine until she led him to a particularly tight turn around the corner of a tall cliff, which the agile Nadder made with ease, but the Rumblehorn had been going too fast and had to pull back hard to avoid colliding with the rock, accidentally jolting his unfamiliar and still somewhat-timid rider completely off his back. Both dragons tried to dive for him, but, whether fortunately or unfortunately, he was too close to the ground for it to make a difference. Astrid cringed as she heard him hit the branch on his way down.

She dismounted before Stormfly's feet touched the ground and ran to where he lay flat on his chest, conscious but groaning. "Eret, are you all right?!"

"Fine," he answered in the sincere tone of one who had been through far worse. Slowly, limb by limb, muscle by muscle, he pulled himself up. She was relieved to see he looked uninjured until she saw the long, fresh, bloody gash on his chest beneath his torn shirt. He noticed it at the same time she did but with far less concern. "That could've been a lot worse," he said nonchalantly but with another groan as he foolishly tried to move his left shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact with the earth.

Astrid immediately ran back to her dragon and pulled her canteen and the bandages all the riders carried at all times (among other such emergency supplies) from her saddlebag. When she returned, Eret was gingerly pulling his shirt off. "I'm so sorry, I should've warned you to slow down there," she said, handing the water out to him as he wiped the blood from his chest with the remains of his shirt.

"It's not your fault. I lost my hold. I was afraid if I held on too tight, he'd throw me off," Eret finished with a grin. Astrid grinned back as he took the canteen but switched to a wide-eyed gasp as he peeled the bloody shirt away from his chest and began washing the cut. It wasn't this new wound that made her start, though, but the sight of the old scar above it. She hadn't seen it or had any reason to remember it since the day they'd met. Now she couldn't take her eyes off it, even forgetting to worry about rudeness or awkwardness.

Eret misinterpreted her gaze. "Don't worry, it's nothing," he said, calling Astrid back to the more pressing matter. She unsheathed her knife and set about bandaging his chest, a task complicated by Stormfly and Skullcrusher nudging the patient with their noses to make sure their friend was all right. "Thanks," Eret sighed when she was done.

"Don't mention it," Astrid said before her eyes were once again drawn to the scar that now stood out even more.

Unable to account for her concern now, Eret asked her, "What's wrong?", which caused her to catch herself, shake her head, and look away – a reaction that seemed to answer his question. Instinctively fingering the brand in his skin with his left hand, he shrugged and said flatly, "Been a while since it's had that effect on anyone."

Astrid looked back at him. She started to say, "Sorry, I… I just…" but gave up. She couldn't shake the memory of the first time she'd seen it…

" _This is what he gave me last time I showed up empty-handed."_

Why had she flinched at the sight of that scar on his chest? She didn't know him then; she'd had no reason to care what he'd been through. It wasn't new, it obviously wasn't causing him any pain, it was the only sign of damage anywhere on him, yet she'd winced and grimaced at her first glimpse of it, even felt a little sick. It was the first time since her childhood that she'd wished she could turn away from the sight of a wound. It had disturbed her in a way no other scar ever had. Why?

Fifteen years of watching Vikings take on fire-breathing, boulder-crushing, spike-throwing, acid-spitting dragons left few injuries she hadn't seen: charred flesh melting off men's bodies, women's hair scorched off their heads, limbs blackened and green with infection sawed off, heads crushed by a vertical trail of bloody rocks after one misstep on the cliff. She'd even once watched a Deadly Nadder tail-spike impale a man right in the eye, the day after seeing a woman barely manage to save some of her skin after a too-close encounter with a Monstrous Nightmare by flinging herself into the sea. Burns, bites, mutilations, scars… they had all ceased to bother her years ago. She took no more notice of any of it than of raindrops.

She knew what scars were. Scars were nature's seal of approval on your body, declaring it had been examined, deemed superior to what had dared to challenge it, and fit to go on. Scars were the proof of your power, strength, and worth as a Viking, the record of what you had been tough enough to survive, the list of opponents you'd vanquished, the sign of a warrior who fought without fear of pain or death because they knew nothing was strong enough to destroy them. Every new warrior looked forward to getting their first scar with as much excitement as if it was their wedding night. Every old warrior told the story behind each mark with as much joy as looking back on the birth of their first child. Man or woman, young or old, scars were worn with pride and dignity, not with shame or grief; as something beautiful and honorable, not ugly or embarrassing; as something to admire and envy, not pity, sneer at, and look away from in disgust.

So why had she impulsively recoiled from the dragon trapper's scar as if it was something too disturbing for her sensitive eyes to bear? There had been no time to think about it in that moment, not with a dragon to save, an escape to make, and a new mystery on their hands. The events that immediately followed pushed it out of her mind. She forgot about that part of the encounter… until now.

"Forget about it," Eret told her as he let his arm drop and Astrid returned to the present. "It doesn't mean anything anymore."

Anymore? Did that mean it had meant something in the past? "Doesn't mean anything?" she repeated.

Eret looked at her, his eyebrow raised skeptically. "You know what this is, right?"

Astrid shook her head. "No. Should I?"

Eret seemed to contemplate that, then sighed deeply and hung his head. "No, I guess not. Not around here."

Astrid waited, but when he offered no more information, she had to ask, "What is it?"

Eret clenched his fist before he raised his head, his eyes narrowed in fury. "You know Drago wasn't the only dragon hunter in these parts?"

Only too well. Suppressing a shudder of rage and disgust at the figures the question recalled, Astrid simply answered, "Yes."

"Well, it was about 200 years ago. An archipelago to the west, so the story goes, had a mark they used as a sign of shame and disgrace. They called it the Slavemark, and anyone who bore it was the lowest of the low. Once you had the mark, you had no rights, and your life would be nothing but slavery."

Terrible, sad, thank the gods it wasn't still being done, but why was it relevant? "What does that have to do with…?" Her right arm began to instinctively gesture towards his chest, and she didn't complete the sentence.

"A few decades ago, the mark found a new use. When the first dragon hunting band was formed, the leader used it as a way to… correct those who displeased him. The idea spread. More teams of dragon hunters popped up over the years, and, even though they weren't connected in any way, they all eventually adopted the same method."

Astrid's eyes had gone wide as she listened. "You mean they all use this to…?"

"Yes. They use tattoos to mark which gang or territory they belong to, but they use the old Slavemark to punish those who betray the team, or fail or disobey them in some way, or…"

"Or to torture them to give up information." The words were out of her mouth before Astrid realized what she'd said.

Eret looked quizzically at her, but made no comment except, "I suppose so. It's not so much about shame anymore but the pain. And you can only get it once. When you mess up a second time…"

Astrid shook herself out of the stupor she'd gone into and gripped her arms. They were trembling and covered in goosebumps. Her eyes swiveled around to the mark on his chest again – more like a brand used to mark your family's yak or sheep as your property than a battle scar. She would have noticed that the first time she saw it – how could she not have made the connection? But she'd had no way of knowing… Hiccup had never described what it looked like.

The revelation only made her desperate to know more. The fact that Eret didn't seem the least bit annoyed or offended gave her the courage to ask, "So that's what happened to you?"

Eret shrugged again. "Like I told you – I came back empty-handed, he didn't like it."

"Yeah, but… why?" She needed to know it all. How did it start? Why did he fail that day? Eret certainly didn't seem like the type who would ever finish a mission empty-handed. Images spontaneously formed in her head of him finding an island of nesting mothers, then immediately turning around and going home, claiming he hadn't been able to find any dragons, keeping silent even when a piece of hot metal seared his flesh.

His only response, however, was a deep sigh as he closed his eyes and hung his head again. "Not one of my favorite memories." After a few seconds in which Astrid couldn't think of anything to say, he raised his head and opened his eyes but looked resolutely straight ahead, not towards her. He went on in the tone of someone deep in debt who felt he had no grounds to refuse a request, giving her no opportunity to correct him: "It was over two years ago. We'd been at sea for three weeks. It was winter, lot of bad storms, and supplies were running low. One man had fallen ill a week ago, and it was spreading fast. They told me they'd voted for going back, but I refused, saying we'd be better off freezing to death than going back to Drago with no new dragons. Nobody argued.

"We pulled onto the shore of a new island where we finally found a pair of Changewings. Only half of us were up to fighting, but we brought one of them down. We had just gotten her tied up when three more came out of nowhere and made us fight for our lives. Most of the others retreated. I tried to tell them to stay and fight, but one of them screamed, 'What for?', and I realized, there was no point risking my life for it – unless I found a month's worth of dragons in one night with no chance of any of them getting away, there was no way I could satisfy Drago. Even if I brought this one dragon back, it would be no better than coming back with none. Almost lost my right hand but dodged the acid just in time and ran for it.

"When I got to camp, our party was getting it from the men who had stayed behind for giving up so fast. Some of them were already planning how to go back, but I figured there was no point. We could stay out there forever – even if we found any dragons, we were in no shape to catch them. Since we were doomed no matter what we did now, I finally gave up and set a course for home. I kept an eye out for any dragons on the way back and even tried to snare a Monstrous Nightmare we saw circling the boat, but the shot missed, and it flew away. After that, I spent most of my time trying to plan the best way to break the news to Drago.

"When we got back, I could tell our chances didn't look good. The Dragon Rider had been causing a lot of trouble. The new search parties Drago had formed to find his base… well, _her_ base… had found nothing. Several dragons had died in some outbreak, so the army needed new blood now more than ever. It was enough to put any leader in a bad mood, but Drago… I was amazed the other trappers were still alive.

"When he summoned me and asked me what I'd brought back, I tried acting natural, listing the dragons we'd spotted, showing him several new habitats we'd found on our map where trapping conditions _would_ be ideal once the weather changed, listing the breeds and numbers we _would_ be able to capture in the near future, as if it was the most satisfying, helpful news anyone could expect.

"Naturally, it didn't work. He stabbed the map with his staff and knocked it out of my hands, growling about how he sent me to bring him dragons, not stories. I remember backing away from him, saying we just came back to restock our supplies, pick up some more men, and head back out. He said something about how with twice as much time, I could catch twice as much of nothing. I know I must have made one step too fast because he rushed me and knocked me down like he thought I was planning to run. Before I could get up, he pulled me up by my throat, started talking about other times I'd disappointed him lately – a dragon I let get away, a boat I let some Scauldrons sink, losing a fight with the Rider… I don't know if he was serious, but it was like he was accusing me of messing up on purpose, like I was trying to sabotage him."

"Were you?"

Astrid didn't know what made her ask it, but Eret seemed taken aback by the question. "What?! Of course not! Only a madman would try that!"

"Did he do the same to the others?"

"No – I was the leader. I was the one responsible, so I got to be the one he used as an example."

"How did you ever end up working for him anyway?"

"How does anything like this start? I was drifting along, no home, no family left, I needed a job. I'd survived alone hunting and trapping for years; trapping dragons sounded like a nice challenge. I didn't know just what I'd signed up for, but by the time I found out, it was too late. When you joined Drago, you joined for life – he didn't want anyone leaving to tell the world his secrets. Besides, I thought for sure no one could ever stop him, so it was better to be on the winning side."

Astrid sighed in disappointment – she had to admit some part of her had imagined someone like Eret had been coerced into or driven to join Drago by severe, unbearable circumstances, but he wasn't even trying to pretend that was the case. She supposed that was honorable of him, that he didn't try to make excuses for himself. He sighed like a warrior bracing himself for battle, then continued: "I'll never forget that day. I was so sure he was going to strangle me, I almost didn't realize it when he dropped me. It took me a minute to catch my breath and sit up; when I did, he waved his arm, and the men watching moved in closer so there was nowhere for me to go. He never took his eyes off me, but he jerked his head to his right and told someone, 'Bring it,' and I heard someone run away fast. Then he said, 'There is no room for failures in my army.'

"I'd seen it before. I knew exactly what he was going to do. I knew I'd be in trouble – I didn't think he'd go that far. Which was foolish. Maybe I just refused to let myself think it.

"I had no weapons on me except the knife behind my back. There was nowhere to run. I panicked. All I could think of was what would happen in the next few minutes if I didn't do something. I didn't think, I just jumped to my feet, held my arms out in front of me, started walking slowly around the circle, looking for an opening, and begged him to give me another chance, promised I'd never fail him again.

"He smiled, not only like that was exactly what he'd expected me to say, but like he was confident it was true. He said, 'No, you won't. I'll make sure of that.' I reminded him of all the jobs I _had_ done well for him, then said at the end, 'I'm still one of your best trappers.'

"He looked me up and down before saying, 'I am well aware,' as if that was the most obvious, unnecessary thing he'd ever heard. That was when someone stepped to the front of the crowd and handed it to him. He took it, still without looking away from me for a second, then told me, 'Kneel.' I don't know why, if I was too scared to move or if I thought I'd live longer if I didn't, but I stood still. He waited a few seconds, didn't react at all, at first, then called to the men, 'Grab him.'

"Two of them stepped forward and grabbed my arms. I tried to get away – must've been a reflex, I knew I couldn't escape – but two more rushed in and helped them hold me. I don't know what I was hoping for, but I kept struggling. I heard two more come up behind me and felt someone grab my legs.

"Next, he said, 'Choose your next move carefully, or I might change my mind about showing you mercy. On his knees,' and they forced me down. 'Bare his chest.' Someone pulled my vest over my head. I heard someone else draw a knife. Two of them cut and ripped off my shirt while another one pulled off my belt. I couldn't stop them even if I'd thought it would do any good. Once I was naked from the waist up, he ordered them, 'Hold him tight.' They pinned my arms tight behind my back and grabbed my hair to hold my head back.

"Drago walked towards me, the brand glowing red hot in his hand. As soon as I saw it, I started rambling: 'No… stop… please… you can't…' He laughed. 'I'll do what I want with what is mine,' he hissed as he raised the rod, the brand pointed right at me.

"Dignity and honor are only priorities when facing your enemy; when facing the one you've pledged your loyalty to, when you're completely at their mercy and know that no show of honor will help you, you forget about dignity and think about nothing but the pain you know is coming. I started struggling again, but nothing came of that. There was nothing I could do except shudder as I thought of the pain I was about to be in. I kept pleading with him: 'No, no, please, don't… I'll never let you down again, I promise. I didn't mean to…'

"Once he was standing right over me, he said, 'Apparently, you didn't care enough about my orders to obey them. You need to remember who you work for.' He brought it down before I could brace myself. The rest is a blur. I remember screaming and screaming, smelling my skin burning, imagining all the flesh from my chest melting away. I closed my eyes tight the instant the pain started, but it seemed he was holding it there for an eternity. Finally, I opened my eyes, more moaning than screaming by that point. His eyes were looking right into mine, and I could tell he was enjoying this too much to stop savoring it. I tried to beg him to stop but couldn't say anything. That must have satisfied him, though, because he finally pulled the brand away… at least, I saw him pull it back, but the pain didn't stop. Didn't even weaken.

"He said something… I think, 'Enough,' but whatever it was, it made the others release me. They dropped me where they held me, and I fell on my side, my eyes closed again, writhing in pain, clenching my teeth, trying to breathe, moaning like an animal. But I froze when I felt him step up next to me. I tried to lie still, but when I couldn't take it anymore, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. Now he looked bored, like he hated interrupting his busy day to deal with such irritating matters. I didn't know what I should do, so I waited. I figured he probably wasn't finished with me yet and wondered what he had in store next. Finally, he whispered, 'Never forget who you serve. I won't be so understanding next time.'

"You can decide how much sense it makes, but in that moment, I was so grateful he wasn't going to do anything worse that I said, 'Thank you.' Then he walked away, and so did the others, and I've had this ever since." The worst part for Astrid was the matter-of-fact way he said that last sentence. "I was lucky. The biggest offenders got it on the face."

 _Like Hiccup_. Astrid had listened to the whole thing frozen in horror. She said nothing when he finished – her mind was stuck, not on anything he'd said, not on the story Hiccup had told them about the day Dagur had saved him from the dragon hunters, but on a moment from her first day of dragon training…

" _It's only fun if you get a scar out of it…"_

Had she really said that? How could she help it? She grew up in a world where people's number of intact limbs varied as much as their hairstyles. Complexions were distinguished by how much of your body was covered with burns. Wealth was measured in injuries received – number, severity, and permanence. They didn't wear medals, badges, plumes, tattoos, or crests to advertise their rank, strength, acts of valor, or bragging rights – they had scars for that. She hadn't been joking – she'd meant it as much as the others had. They'd all felt the same way (all but one of them…). She'd always seen getting a scar as something noble and heroic. There was no thrill like the heat of battle, and scars were all part of the fun.

But there was nothing fun about enduring senseless cruelty and pain. Yes, you could be proud of enduring and surviving such pain, but it wasn't the same as pride from defeating an equal opponent in a fair fight on the field of battle. It wasn't noble or heroic, just tragic, because it shouldn't happen and it was never a good thing when it did happen.

 _It's only fun if you get a scar out of it._ She must have realized on some level the day she first met him that this wasn't true. Even without her knowing the whole story, his short explanation had been enough to make it clear there was nothing fun about that scar, no story you could take any pleasure in telling or hearing, no memory you could take any pride in reliving. She'd sensed it was different – she'd never realized why until today.

 _It's only fun if you get a scar out of it._ Not for everyone. How could men actually take what was supposed to be a symbol of strength and honor and use it as a tool of torture? Turn what should be a reminder of your own conquest and power into a reminder of another's conquest and power over you? She hadn't thought of that when Hiccup had described what the hunters had almost done to him, only of the pain he would have been in. When she'd heard how they'd threatened him, she'd focused on the torture, not the act of branding itself. She'd never thought of it from this angle before. Not consciously. No wonder Eret's scar had disturbed her so deeply.

"I had no idea," Astrid finally whispered softly.

"I should have told you you didn't want to know," Eret whispered back.

"No… I'm glad I know. I knew people could be cruel… I never thought how…" Astrid couldn't hope to explain what his story meant to her. _That could have been him_. Hiccup had come so close. Astrid could see everything he'd told her, all the details she'd pressed him for: him being forced to his knees in the sand, shrinking away from the heat, gritting his teeth as they laughed, as if they couldn't wait to do it, Dagur speaking up and stopping them. She felt a rush of gratitude toward Dagur even greater than she felt the last time she saw him.

Since Astrid wasn't sure she had the right to share what had almost happened to Hiccup, she merely said, "It shouldn't have happened. I'm so sorry," hating the last words even as she spoke them for being so cliché. It didn't seem fair that Hiccup had escaped and Eret hadn't.

"I shouldn't have helped him trap dragons."

"You didn't deserve that!"

"Maybe not, but I brought it upon myself."

"No…"

Eret didn't let her get any farther. "I was a fool for ever joining him," he insisted. "At least I'll remember never to make that mistake again."

It took a few seconds for Astrid to work up the nerve to ask what was on her mind now: "How do you bear it?" How could anyone bear carrying something like that for the rest of their life?

"When I still worked for him, it didn't matter. I hated it, but I couldn't do anything about it except make sure it never happened again, so I just tried not to think about it. Now, I still hate it, but it's easier, thanks to all of you."

"Us?"

"Now, whenever I think of it, I just remember how I helped you lot and the dragons escape. How, at least once, I was able to fight back and save a few from him." As if sensing his partner needed support at the moment, Skullcrusher pressed his face up against his rider's left shoulder. Eret smiled and placed one hand under the dragon's chin and the other on his horn. "And I remember how different things are now."

"For all of us…" Astrid agreed but without elaborating. This conversation would make her look at many things differently from now on.

"You won't tell anyone any of this, will you?" Eret asked her, his voice suddenly anxious. "No point in everyone talking about me and feeling sorry for me."

"No, of course not," Astrid said firmly, privately hoping that he and Hiccup would get a chance to talk about it someday. He relaxed at her answer. "I didn't mean to get into all this, I was just curious, but… I really am glad you told me."

"I owed you that much. Besides, I'm glad you asked. I've never told anyone about that before. Never needed to back there, they all knew, and here…" He didn't go on, but he sounded relieved.

"If you ever need to talk about it again…"

"Thank you."

 _Thank_ _ **you**_ , Astrid thought, honored that he had confided so much in her (it looked like Hiccup had been right when he'd said it was easier for men to open up to women than to other men). Maybe next time, she'd have the words, the courage, and permission to tell him what his story had taught her, the new things he'd made her think of, but he was clearly in no mood to dwell on it any further, and she wouldn't ask it of him. For now, she asked him if he was up to riding home on his own. He assured her he was and slowly pulled himself onto his dragon's back, only groaning and clutching his chest once. With that, the two friends took to the sky.


End file.
